Lines on a map ... Part I

It took seven years before I could summon up the will to go back to the Occupied Territories of Palestine. The memories of endless checkpoints and searches, being asked the same questions (where are you from? where are you staying? do you know anyone in the West Bank?), never being able to calibrate my emotions with colleagues because you never know what mood people will be in (was there a raid during the night? is money tight again? has a family member been arrested?), observing the relentless grind of life under occupation and the constant visceral sense of anger, frustration and violence that permeates the entire mass of land known variously as Palestine, Israel, Judea and Samaria ... and I was only there for two months and could at least run over the border to Al Quds/Jerusalem and sit in a pub and pretend I was somewhere else when I needed a break unlike a Palestinian who lives with it every single day of their life.  

But Dingo Baby was keen to find out why I keep shouting at the television every time the BBC roll out the lazy cliches of Palestinians in ski masks holding AK47s, or continuously interviews Mark Regev or an IDF spokesperson and never anyone from the Palestinian or Israeli peace movements. Not to mention their amnesia when it comes to previous Israeli governments denial of the existence of Palestinians (e.g. Golda Meir).

So earlier this year I found myself back in the queue at Tel Aviv International Airport, facing the same questions, only this time with the addition of 'how are you two related?', 'do you live at the same address?', and carrying what I hope is a greater sense of resilience to insanity. Given the current escalation in violence between Palestine and Israel, now seems like a good time to write it up. And Tel Aviv is a good start. It is more relaxed than Al-Quds/Jerusalem. It is Mediterranean in feel with a string of 21st century beach bars and cosmopolitan cafes extending out from 10th century BCE Old Jaffa. Grotty shopfronts hide cavernous restaurants, young couples slow dance in pop up outdoor clubs while football fans watch Manchester United vs Manchester City on makeshift billboard televisions. In the evening, along the promenade, Israeli and Palestinian families are at least in the same space if not exactly interacting.

Helicopters regularly buzz the air as a reminder that despite the relaxed veneer, Gaza is only 70 kilometres away. Although possibly another reminder is the contaminated water off Tel Aviv's beaches. We swam for two days before realising that what the lifeguards were yelling at us in Hebrew was to get out of the water.

We arrived on the 28th April, two days after Israel's 'Independence Day' on the 26th. On the 27th, an African refugee family were fire bombed out of their home by their 'religious' neighbours. Noone made much of a public fuss. The Israeli government is now building a wall along its northern borders, to keep out Hezbollah, its southern borders to keep out African migrants and Sudanese refugees, and along its border with the Occupied Territories. The State formed in order for the Jewish community to escape the ghettos of Europe is ghetto'ising itself instead. 

But no amount of wall-building can contain the divisions within the country. Not only between Palestinian and Israeli, but between Israelis and the growing number of migrants (nannies and cleaners from Southeast Asia, construction workers from China, refugees and sans papier primarily from Africa), and between Israeli and Israeli (secular vs religious; the peace and 'occupy' movements vs the government; Christian Jewish vs Jewish Jewish; the Mizraheen/Arabic Jewish community vs the Ashkanazi/European Jewish community vs the Russian Jewish Community vs the Ethiopian Jewish Community; American Jewish retirees vs Middle Eastern Jewish culture). This complexity in Israel is another part of the story rarely discussed in European or US media and government departments. To really understand the conflict in the Middle East is to understand these tensions and that requires a road trip and lots of cups of black tea with fresh mint and sugar.

The plan was to drive around Israel first and then head over the border to visit the Occupied Territories. The first day of driving on the wrong side of the road is always guaranteed to ensure a good night's sleep, especially if it's hot, if Israelis don't sign post their roads, and if the Hebrew place names are spelt differently to the ones in the map which wasn't detailed enough as it turned out. And it seemed I was doing something wrong as I was constantly honked at by other drivers.

Not withstanding the challenges of contemporary way-finding, it is impossible to travel in this part of the world without being reminded of the passing of civilisations that too, at one time, thought they were indestructible; that too built walls that eventually came down. Caesarea is marked by Sidonians, Romans, Byzantines and Crusaders. Susita, Jericho, Masada among many others, are the ruins of empires that rose and fell as a palimpsest, one layered on top of the other, leaving traces for the next generation to figure out. One would think that this would be a humbling environment for the incumbent State but it seems hubris is a universal condition.

These traces of empire include the stones and chants of the religions of the book that create contemporary arguments over authenticity and possession. Ambiguity ultimately dominates a landscape that desperately tries to assert fundamental boundaries to contain it. Everything and nothing is apparent. It is possible, for example, to be Jewish and Christian, according to Hannah, our host in Tiberius. Yet Christianity sits uneasily in the Holyland. Given the history of Christian persecution of Jews in Europe she prefers to keep a low profile, citing a passage from the bible to illustrate that it's okay to live quietly with your neighbours and then noone minds or notices. Her community refer to themselves as Messianic Jews rather than Christians. Hannah corrects me when I ask how other Israelis feel about her practicing Christianity. She is not practicing Christianity but rather she is a believer in Christ. She doesn't celebrate Christian holidays and reaffirms her Jewish identity. But there are fears that organisations such as Jews for Judaism are gathering evidence to have Messianic Jews expelled from Israel for not being Jewish. Hannah believes she has had her phone tapped and her mail checked. On the other hand, there is an uneasy alliance between the State of Israel and USA based Christian fundamentalist organisations, such as Christians United for Israel. CUFI is alleged to raise millions of dollars each year to support, for example, the illegal settlements in the Occupied Territories.

Christianity's origins are centred on the Galilee as the region where Jesus Christ lived and preached. We stand among the faithful in a place that for 100s of years has heard the prayers, the wishes, hopes and desires of the believers. And they come from Nigeria, Fiji, India, Brazil, as well as Europe and the USA, to stand, to heave, to sweat in Tabgha and Capernaum and the Mount of Beatitudes. They add to the impressions in the mosaic before the altar that signifies the weight of the faithful over the years. And just as they leave their own mark here they also look for the mark of God: the footsteps of Mohammed in Al Aqsa mosque; Jesus in the Church of the Ascension; Buddha on Sri Pada. The believers stand where they are sure Jesus once stood, immersed in chatter and camera clicks and bible readings from evangelist preachers, and then, imperceptibly, there is silence. Prayers rise with the heat while bodies slow down.

We shifted to the shores of the Sea of Galilee for some respite. The African cleaners ambled through the haze, the only movement apart from a swimmer, a guitarist, a card thrown on a picnic table in the shade among friends, a sparrow after the remains of my dried mango, and the sonic booms of the Israeli air force. It is the somnolent air of summer on a divine afternoon in which even as an aetheist I find it impossible to deny the potential of a state of grace, given and received. I took comfort also in learning from Hannah that a Galilean accent is the Israeli equivalent of someone who is known in Australia, derogatively, as a bogan. Jesus was a bogan. Fabulous.

The complexity of Israel's identity crisis is exacerbated by intergenerational cultural change, exemplified in the reorganisation of Israel's once communal Kibbutzim. In Ein Gev, a farm that relies on fishing, bananas, dairy and tourism, a recorded voiceover with an Australian accent recites the history of struggle in establishing this kibbutz. It is explicit in stating that this was part of creating a 'new identity' for Jews: one based on physical, manual labour; one that can then claim ownership of the land that it has worked. This is not the effete identity of the past that some blame for acquiescing to its own death in Europe. But while this muscularity is still reflected in the contemporary politics of Israel, the idea of creating the nation is no longer what holds Israel together.  From 2002, like many other kibbutz, Ein Gev has slowly succumbed to privatisation and the end of the collectivist model.

War has also been used in Israel's nation-building project. In the Golan, another voice-over reminds us of how the Occupation is keeping the area 'clean' as well as celebrating the achievements of the IDF that have occupied this part of Syria since 1967. The UN in no-man's land keeps a token eye on things and gives the cafe on Mount Bental its name: Coffee Annan. For the best Shakshuka in Israel, eat here. Four villages in the distance sit uneasily beneath Mt Hermon on top of which, on the Israeli side, is a listening station known as 'the eyes of the State' (says the voice-over proudly). These are Druze villages which, according to the voice, 'chose to stay and integrate' after Syria withdrew. Other sources suggest that integration may not have been quite so successful as many refused Israeli citizenship.

Hannah, born in the USA originally, was nostalgic for the nationalism of past decades and its common project. When she came 22 years ago everyone worked together and left their doors open. Her fear is that of previous generations the world over: now people are more materialistic and there is nothing left to hold the nation together.

While Hannah may not be so confident about the future she did at least reassure me not to worry about the honking. It's a language in Israel. We cross the country from North to South, from soft hills to harsh light, from desert to sea. On the way a side trip to an oasis in the middle of the Negev finds a psy-trance party for Israel's well-heeled youth. Tanks line up in the desert to practice war and occupation. At Maktesh Ramon, a great gouge in the desert, another disembodied voice reminds us that civilisation, defined in terms of controlling nature, requires a strong government, beginning with King David, ending with Muslim rule, coming again with the State of Israel. The control of nature includes intensive dairies in the middle of the desert, where cows are milked three times a day and showered six to keep cool. Finally we arrive at a city with an airport in the middle of it, a clear sea, blue not red, and another flag just over the water.